


Sympathy for the Devil...Or Something Like That

by ktkoneko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6191713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktkoneko/pseuds/ktkoneko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the beginning, there were angels. And then a rebellion came leading into the fall of Lucifer. This is that story from a different point of vies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for the Devil...Or Something Like That

     What makes up a story? Well, the first thing to consider would be the setting. Would it take place in the past, allowing the reader to relive a misplaced sense of nostalgia from a time they truly know nothing of? Times of great wars and revolutions, crusades and inventions to shape the present that exists today as we know it. Perhaps, instead, it would take place within a dystopian future? The sort that has the reader chuckling with awkward nervousness within their petty little book clubs, thinking privately to themselves that that could never actually happen, only for years and years and generations to pass, and the new readers look back to think why didn’t anybody see the hidden warning? Maybe it simply takes place within the present day to give the reader a way of escaping into a life that is and will forever be so much better than the one they could ever lead?

     And those are just the bare minimums of the time period. It holds nothing over the world itself. It could be a magical wonderland or an old western or a space odyssey. It could be a grand adventure or a sordid romance or a crippling horror. It could be a comedy or it could be tragedy. It could be any number of genres twisted together into an enthralling tale of merriment and wonder, meant to entice the reader and move them and shake them down to their very soul.

     But the next thing to consider are the characters. The hero, the villain, the damsel in distress (and how utterly sexist is that for a concept? That, for once, it is not the princess saving the knight from the dragon, when back in the real world nobody is ever really saved from anything?). A good story will make you love the hero, hate the villain, and root and cheer for the predictable and inevitable outcome. Characters should be well rounded and fit within the setting of the story. This is why the setting is so important. Because without the setting in place, there is no guarantee the characters will ever truly fit in. You may find yourself with the setting of a space odyssey during the time period of the crusades with the characters meant to fit in within an old western. It would never work.

     The third thing a good story needs to consider is the plot. “But why isn’t the plot the first thing to be listed?” you may demand in confusion. Well, that is simple. The plot is not actually a necessary part to any story. Period. The only thing that should be decided is the ending. That is where the stories always truly begin, didn’t you know? The ending. Because once you have the setting and the characters placed, you can then decide how the story should end. The valiant knight slays the dragon, gets the girl, and they live happily ever after. You know the ending. You know the characters. You know enough to assume this takes place in some form of fantasy world due to the existence of a dragon. All that is left is to simply sit down and write, allowing the adventure to unfold itself, because so long as it reaches the ending, what matter is it for the rest of the plot?  
Maybe the writer has to go back a couple of times and alter a thing here or there to make sure all of the little plot holes are filled and loose ends are tied. Perhaps the writer finds themselves taken aback and surprised by their own creations and how events unfold before them. Either way, the song remains depressingly the same and not a single fully formed plot is needed. The reason for this is that a story is, first and foremost, predictable. No matter the twists and turns the writer took the time to painstakingly put into the story, they are all the same. The villain is thwarted, the hero gets the girl, and the day is once again saved.

     All stories can be stripped down and torn apart into the barest bones of their existence and suddenly they are all the same. The main character is given a seemingly unattainable task, teaming up with various friends along the way of their adventure, only to come out on top in the very end. Long since passed the days of anxiousness and surprise, a reader left on the edge of their seat in anticipation, desperately promising themselves just one more page to see if their beloved hero makes it out of their peril alive. Now? Well. There are still three more chapters left so obviously everything turns out fine.

     But that is not the point here. No. The point here is simple really. I would like to tell you, the reader, a story. One of life and tragedy, with good guys and villains, riddled with betrayal, love, and family. The catch is simply this; I will not tell you who plays what role. I will leave out the names and allow for you to put together who is who and what it what. I will allow for you to decide who is the villain, the hero, the one to root for...I simply wish to tell you the story of my life. I will allow you yourself to decide just exactly who is who and just what you make of it. I will even tell you that you already know how this ends. You already know the story. And as you, my dear and captive audience, make your way through filling in the blanks, deciding who plays what, I ultimately just hope that you guess my name…

 

     In the beginning, there was darkness ( _See_? I _told_ you that you have heard this story before. I suppose now would be the time to warn you that it isn’t a happy story either…) and then just as suddenly there was light. These masses of pure, blinding light, reflecting prisms of color off of one another as they stretched and shrank, coming slowly into their existence as spidery tendrils branched off, wrapping around one another in wordless greeting. Silent auras of motion and thought, all ‘You are You and I am Me’ as they became acquainted with one another before they were sent scattering off into the vastness of nothing. For that was all there was at this point. Nothing. The only other things to be around being Us and Them and He.

     This is not, to say, that we were all the same. Some were smaller, some were duller, some were brighter than you could even imagine. There were the first and then there were the second. For a very, very long time that was all there was. And it was good. We flitted around, testing how far we could stretch ourselves out, learning through touch and color and, much later on, sound what and who we were individually and what and who we were when we all came together into one singularity.

     And when the sounds came...They were just as brilliant. Chimes and whistles, the sound of a late desert rain hitting the dry clay, or an autumn breeze rustling through dying leaves with the cloying promise of a chill yet to come and overtake the final touches of summer heat. And then there was, just as suddenly, more. A sky of brilliant blues and pinks and reds and purples, painted together with painstaking care. A land of textures and great heights and grand dips, sprouting a beautiful life all of its own. Rivers and lakes and oceans of gorgeous reflection to the new world around it, supporting the first living things to come after us.

     Things that swam and twisted and dipped and shimmied throughout the new substance. And then the animals that crawled and clawed and climbed and ran came to be, roaming over the heights and dips and the newest textures the likes of which were never before knew as they were never before in existence (and, I confess, it was much like watching those feline creatures rolling about aimlessly in moss and high grass and rubbing against rough bark to watch as we flitted about with no cause or direction, testing the textures and dipping deep into the waters, only to quickly shoot right back up high into that painted sky.) and then came the birds. The birds that flew and the birds that landed. The birds that sang in different tones and pitches.

     It was all very...Peaceful. And that, my dear reader, would have been the beginning. The _very_ beginning. It was also ultimately to be considered the catalyst. For it was so remarkable, so beautiful, so peaceful, that it become mundane. I said before that a story always gets written ending first. Well, what made you think that this one was any different? The ending was written out before it even began, even if the plot was not. The characters at this point were more or less interchangeable. The time came for the change.

     For the last thing to come into creation was mankind. Humans. _You_. And allow me to say, first and foremost, how much you ruined everything. You were the beginning of the end. The turning point. You were the groundwork laid out for the conflict. Sadly, the thing that this story ultimately lacks is the fifth and final component of any good story. The resolution. Not to say that there isn’t a climax. There is. But it is one that I cannot in good conscience call a resolution. It resolves none of the betrayal or the heartbreak. It changes nothing other than casting down the villain (If that isn’t a bit too tongue in cheek for you mind).

     So mankind was created and the ending had already been written. A very simple existence was set out for your very first ancestors. Live. Nothing more, nothing less. Live and enjoy and eat and drink...But one rule is to remain. Do not eat from the tree that bears its fruit in the heart of the garden. It will kill you. Except that it really would not, now would it? It would result in the newest creations being cast out into the world created and history itself to unfold up and through to the end of all time and creation.

     But it was a simple rule and, at least for a time, peace continued to reign through this place and we continued on in our existence, content to keep to ourselves for the time being. By this point we had managed to settle for the most part, adopting different quirks that allowed for us to be distinguished by more than touch and sound and color. Some had taken to shifting throughout the sky, twisting about the birds and flaring out in shocks of colors against the deep blue. Some took to the rivers and the lakes and the oceans, finding a sort of peace in the deepest trenches of the oceanic floor where life struggled to exist. Some found it best to remain in the vastness that was our first home, breaking up the darkness and the nothingness with brief flecks and flashes of light.

     We all stayed away from the garden, however, stayed far away from the garden in which He placed the seeds of humanity.

     My brother, one of many mind you, preferred to wander. Curiosity was never, in fact, a good thing. Yet it still existed from the moment that we first came to be. I myself preferred to stay close to home, close to Him, staying in my rightful place by his side. However, on occasion I would find myself looking on into the garden, hidden in shadows as I watched this corner of the world. Oftentimes I would come to find myself watching mankind dance around itself, obeying and enjoying the fruits of creation, rejoicing and worshiping whenever He should come through for a visit.

     More often than not, my wandering brother would come across me (and do not for one _second_ presume to think me naive. I was _well_ aware of the fact that it was no coincidence that he would find me in my snooping, knowing what I myself knew at that time and well aware that I would like nothing more than to go back to the before), and it was always the same. His light would wrap around my own, radiating warmth and care, even while chiding, _“Stay away from the garden. You know your place and you **know**. There are big plans for those new creatures.”_ It was always the same and yet I always found myself returning to my shadows to observe. To watch and sigh and sneer. For the ending had already been written and that was the problem.

     You see my dearest audience? I knew how it was going to end. How it was always going to end. We all did. The only thing that was missing was the actual plot. We were not told of just how it would manage to unfold around us or how it would come to be, but we all knew the story. Perhaps that made things worse?

     In the beginning, He made them, they were given free reign with one rule in place, and they would in time eat of the forbidden fruit to set off the path of humanity as you may now know it. It was by this point that I was beginning to understand how this would happen and, with a horrible feeling that I had no known name for, I came to realize my hatred for your budding species would ultimately lead to your downfall. I would take this time to apologize, except that I cannot in good conscience claim that it would be sincere in nature. I also, at this point in time, was beginning to realize that I was not the only one to come to such a conclusion.

     There were whispers amongst the rest of them. Hushed warnings and murmurs of prediction, realizing that something had changed in the story. This would be where the plot was rising to its crescendo, the climax, the height of the tension! We already knew the conflict. Man would fall from grace, partaking in the very first sin and forever damning themselves to the fate that was laid out for them before they were even the barest of thought. The climax...That would be the point of their fall. The resolution...Well. I already warned that there was no resolution to this story, did I not?

     This time, it was I who sought my brother out. I was...Afraid. And hurt. And angry. For there was no other way to describe the turmoil that had settled over me and I was naive and stupid and careless. I confessed. _“They do not belong.”_ I protested softly, allowing for his comfort, folding my own light and sound down, down, down, making myself impossibly small and warm and safe. I protested and cried out injustice. They were vile things that would come to ruin everything. I missed the before and I wished them gone. I feared and worried of what would come of myself in the end of this story. All that I wished for was to go back to before. Back when we were the only things in that garden and were now scattered away, distancing ourselves from them and from one another in turn.

     And my brother soothed. _“Do not speak of what you do not know. Of what you feel. Do not speak of this to any others, for they will cry out blasphemy and you will be punished. Stay away from the garden, brother, I beg of you. There are big plans for those creatures. Stay **away** from the garden.”_ he would plead and beg and warn. Yet, I did not listen. Still, I found myself drawn closer to the garden. And I could feel the hatred and the anger growing toward man. And it would have been easy to simply destroy the life that had been so carefully constructed.

     I did not and that, perhaps, is the biggest regret I have of all of them in this story, for so much could have been prevented had I simply acted then.

     I knew that my brother knew that I was still lingering in the shadows. Just as he knew I was aware of his ever watchful eye. It was as though the entirety of this beautiful creation was holding its breath in wait, time slipping slowly by. And then, just as suddenly, the breath was released and the mundane had taken a shift for absolute chaos. For one of us had entered into the garden and...Well. Mankind had partaken in the forbidden fruit and found themselves thrust out into the world while the garden was sealed off to those first humans and all of their descendants.

     And as for me? My brother watched me with a sadness that made me ache deep down in my very existence. Silently watching on, no words left to be spoken between us. I knew what would be said had he bothered to just share the thoughts he held back desperately. _“I told you to stay away from the garden, brother. I begged it of you. Only one thing I asked of you and do you see now? **This** is the outcome of your actions.”_ But the words never came.

     I like the believe that he was simply trying to keep from hurting me further. Perhaps my greatest wrongdoing in all of this was not forcing those words from my brother’s mouth. That we were both well aware of my distaste and worry and curiosity were the foundation of this ending. And that is, in fact, what this was. The beginning of the end. For while we knew not to enter the garden and not to harm man, the story still played out the way it was written. Because while the story was planned, it still created the question amongst us of why.

     Why did we bow down and follow? Why were we not given the same extent of favor and freedom of humanity? Even with their betrayal and their corruption and their taint, they were given the promise of redemption. He promised to one day grant them a chance of peace and the ability to enter back into what was our home. Not back into the garden, but into what was ours, and that wasn’t seen as fair. Why were we not allowed to stand up and protest?

     This first act of betrayal, this first act of free will and thinking, stirred up the climax. It started small. Though is that not the case for all of the largest conflicts? Your second world war, for example. Did anyone think anything of it when Hitler rose to power and began to single out the outcasts of his mind with badges of golden stars and triangles of varying colors? No. Nobody gave it a second thought until he had managed to kill the majority of them off.

     Nobody ever thinks twice about the whispers of rebellion. It is only when the war itself breaks out and one finds themselves fighting in the midst of it, slaughtering their own blood, that they are left to think back and see the warning signs for what they were. The bullet that sings out in the quiet and strikes down the leader of a great nation, starting off a domino effect. Millions slaughtered for being only what they are. Brother fighting brother because they were unfortunate enough to find themselves on the wrong sides of the invisible line drawn by their leaders…

     Now, typically this is the part of the story where the resolution would take place. The villain cast down and the hero rising up as the victor to be praised and exalted for their good deeds. But here is where I ask you, my reader, my audience, my captive listener, to think. My distaste for mankind led to my anger and insecurities...Led to man being tempted to eat of that forbidden fruit...Led to a war in which many of my siblings fell. So I ask you think, who is the villain in this piece? This story that had been written long before my own creation?

     Because here I offer you the ending. I was choked on my fear and anguish and I stayed close to His side where I belonged. And I obeyed and I listened and I did as I was told in fear that I would be punished for what had transpired of my actions, my curiosity, my blatant disobedience. And I did as I was told to do and nothing more. I knew better than to question any longer. For it was my questioning that caused that rebellion and that war and saw my brother cast down from grace. Tainted, twisted, destroyed. Punished for his actions in the garden and against mankind, despite the knowledge of the ending already having been written.

     The story varies greatly, told in many different ways. A few say that my brother was cast down for loving too much. That it was his love for his family that had him speaking out against mankind, refusing to treat them as we were instructed. That it was his love and loyalty that led for him to tempt Eve into eating that fruit and corrupting humanity, leading into the war of our home. I would say that those stories are the closest thing that you will find to the truth...

 

_“Stay away from the garden, brother, I beg of you. There are big plans for those creatures. Stay **away** from the garden and never speak of what you know or what you feel. For if you do, others will cry out blasphemy and you will be punished. I cannot bear to see that happen...”_


End file.
